Sunday, November 18, 2007
Geriatric Beatdown: When Liver Spots and Dentures Go Bad.
I'm back from Missouri ya'll. I apologize for my lack of blogging all week, I was knee deep in homemade gravy, homemade chili, homemade stuffing, and (not so homemade) SONIC chili cheese tots,(mmmmm...tots.) that rendered me incapable of typing or doing anything of any value to society. Although I did have an urge to stop by the local Wal-Mart and pick up a cheese log to wash down my deer jerky but that would have required getting up and out of the house and honestly, I wasn't up for the "brown girl" staring extravaganza that always happens at that place .
I went to Wal-Mart once to go get some toys for the munchkin for the flight back home and at first no one looked at me. "AH!" I thought, "They're getting used to short brown people who share their love for gravy. Fabulous." And hold on to your seats, I even saw a "Latin Foods" aisle there! (although I do think that by "latin foods" they mean tamales in a can. burf.)
I felt accepted, embraced and for once, I didn't feel as if a lynching was just around the corner.
It didn't last long. As soon as viking hubby walked close enough to me to indicate that he was somehow or another associated with the brown girl in a romantic sense (ewww)...the staring began. Not so much by the young folk (thank you MTV) but more from the geriatric community. When viking hubby held my hand, I felt them all collectively shudder and gnash their dentures in dismay as Maria from West Side Story reminded me to "Stick To Your Own Kind" in my head.
I've had quite a run in with old grumpy bastards this past week. First, the ones at Wal-Mart, who weren't that bad because when I caught them staring at me, I smiled ever so sweetly as if to say, "I'm not going to rob you old person and yes, I am indeed a legal alien" and they had enough manners to muster up a fake smile.
I've discovered that the worst kind of old person is the kind that fly on planes.
They're grumpy to begin with and it only gets worse when they have to bend their creaky backs over to take off their orthopedic shoes and grumble about what a waste of time it is since it's obvious they're not a terrorist because they don't have "towels" on their heads. (swear I heard an old fart say that shit.) I was ahead of one wrinkly biznatch in the security line, putting my shoes back on, putting a toddler's shoes back and trying to gather my car seat and two carry on bags BY MYSELF. (viking hubby drove to Mizzo..long story about not being able to take his huntin' guns on the plane...yeeha).
The old bitch behind me gave a very loud exasperated sigh. Mind you, I wasn't in her way at all, there was room on either side to get through, but I assumed she might break a hip if she needed to make any sudden movements to the left or right. So being a nice polite respect your elders type gal I am, I smiled at her and kind of edged over to let her diapered ass through. Apparently it wasn't enough for the old hag because she sighed again when she had to step slightly to the right to get past my daughter.
I guess when the grim reaper is breathing down you're neck it's understandable why she was in such a rush. That comment marinated on my tongue but I kept it in.
Yes I know. I'm an oak.
Well....okay, I'm more like particle board because as you can imagine, I could not hold my tongue for long.
You would think that my munchkin, the infant in front of me and the triplets in the back would have been the nuisances on the plane. But NAY, yet again the bitching came from those who reek of Ben Gay. Constant complaining about where their drinks were, how it was too hot, too cold, my hip broke again, my teeth fell out, I pooped myself, blah blah blah...
My patience finally broke when we got off the plane and again, being a respectable traveler that I am, I usually wait to be the last one off when I'm with the munchkin because I have a bulky item (the munchkin's seat) and the munchkin tends to be a "casual walker" and feels no need to walk fast when there's airplane peanuts under the seat she can pick up and examine. So I'm there, letting everyone through and surprise, surprise a person of the wrinkly variety stops right by me and doesn't say a word.
"Oh no, go ahead sir."
"SIR! (thinking maybe the hairs in his ears somehow short circuited his hearing aid)..you can go ahead."
Ah the manners on this one was impeccable.
So I thought, fuck it, suit yourself.
Not A SECOND into maneuvering myself and the munchkin into the aisle, I hear the exasperated sigh and the particle board snapped.
Since I'm all class. I won't go into all the gruesome details of my "Why I Hate Old Fucks Like You," airplane speech (and seriously I can't remember most of what I said because I was so mad/tired), but I will tell you that I gave him a quick tutorial on how one can take a big can of Ensure and shove it up one's ass.